[gold-glowing-gummies]

What I did on free days

By Putunia Mollar

Content: exactly what it says on the tin, Putunias what I did on the weekend essay, child writing + spelling errors, Habismollar family, mild allusions to past child abuse, fluff, Putunia deserves a sticker for her work

What I did on free days. I stayed at home with Kamal and green menace. Kamal is in school again to be a dentis. Baba was a dentis but he was evil and now he sells flowers. He is not evil now.

My friend is a flower seller too. Baba works at my friends shop.

On the free days we went to the park and get Ice cream. It was Me and Menace and Kamal. I like chocolate the most. I like ice cream. I used to not get it. Kamal says some Ice cream is okay but not always because that is bad for your teeth. On Sunday it rained so we stayed home. Flowers need lots of rain. Some flowers don’t. They are called Kaktea. I like flowers. Baba likes flowers too. But he don’t eat them.

I drew him a daisy. He crode but he said it was because he was happy. He always cri a lot sometimes. Sometimes he is sad. But he says he is not as sad as when he was small.

I understand that, I am not sad anymore and I do not cry only sometimes and I grew five inches.

Kamal draws them on the wall. My old mom and dad never drew on the wall and yelled when I did. Kamal and Baba are better. Kamal only yells sometimes when he is scared like he lost his keys and Baba yells a lot but he is loud and not mad. In the evening i brush my teeth and Kamal helps me with my padyamas. Then I go in bed. Baba reads me a comic in bed. He does funny voices and all the sound effecs. Then I sleep. I love free days the most. The End

[gold-glowing-gummies]

Goodbye

Gerry makes the choice to leave someone behind.

Content: Gerry Podunk X Martha, Objectum, “crack” taken seriously, angst, mentions of poisoning and laughing gas, A boy says goodbye to the machine he loves

Martha has not been Gerry’s first one

No, no. As beautiful as she was, as much of a wonderful machine that stood proudly in the middle of the Habitat she was, there had been another before.

She never had a real name as far as he knew, but in his mind she would always be Agnes.

She was the highest telephone pole around the block, a dark, towering beaut, covered in wires that draped around her like an assortment of necklaces.

He remembers the first time he saw her and how gobsmacked he was by everything about her.

He had to crane his neck to truly take her in and it almost made his heart jump from his rib cage.

The deep, static hum in his ears… and her smell. He never knew a whiff of wood could smell like THAT.

Everything about her was bodaciously amazing and he spend a lot of days on that street just to be around her, tinkering and building things from trash and things he fished from the lake just to be close to her comforting, low humming voice.

Now Gerry understood why his sister could never stop yappin about her classmate, how she was so smart and wonderful, so kind and how her blue curls shimmered in the sun like waves.

But oh boy, did that lass have nothing on his Agnes.

And one day she was gone.

One bad night, one thunderstorm, one badly aimed strike of lightning and she was gone. Just gone. It would take a while to reconnect everything, to put up a new, “safer” utility pole, a sleeker looking thing, equally as massive but with less cable adorning him, but his Agnes? Gone.

Gone.

And suddenly Gerry understood why his sister was so down in the dumps when her classmate moved away.

But now there was Martha.

A lady as imposing as she was beautiful. A machine whose purpose was lost on him, maybe she was just made to be drop dead gorgeous.

He was pretty much in love as soon as he laid his peepers on her. Strong, loud, noisy. Steamy pipes ssssh-ing and zzzzsh-ing and huffing with every puff of smoke she released into the world. Dented steel and big screws and a wide body that made him feel like he was running out of words by the minute.

And what a smile. Oh what a smile.

How could he not have fallen for her?

It’s the janitor who tries to tellim first.

Gerry doesn’t quite remember what he was doing in the boiler room At the time, he thinks it had something to do with that wacko kid, tried to offer him some vampire protections , but when he was poking around the water to see if some useful junk would turn up, he suddenly heard a voice.

They had a pleasant lil gab at first, exchanging names, were they came from and such.

… But it wouldn’t take too long till he got to the meat of the soup.

He tried to break it to him gently, poor sod, tried to tell him about the big boss and how he could not be trusted, how anything Habit built for this place only spelled disaster, that whatever his beloved was made for, it was something foul.

Gerry also doesn’t quite remember how he reacted to this humbug. He thinks it included a lot of fancy words he picked up from his hometown and would not repeat in front of a lady or his sweet mom, but he remembers how he stepped out of the room fuming more than the boiler itself.

What did he know? Nothing thats what’s he knows.

Next who tries to warn him is the nervous fella from the roof. Sucker, but Gerry has a soft spot for him. Nice to have someone in this place who speaks almost normally compared to everyone else.

He makes pleasant conversation. Pleasant, awkward, stilted conversation, before he finally gets down to business.

Says how he must like that machine a lot.

And Gerry answers that he sure does, she’s the love of his live! His sweet lady! His soon to be Mrs. Podunk. Ain’t no more beautiful machine on the face of the earth!

Nervous guy makes a weird face for a second like he is caught between a bad smell and a sneeze, but catches himself quickly.

Asks him if Gerry knew what she… does…

And Gerry furrows his brows at him behind the wielders mask, pressing the trigger of his torch a few times for good measures.

Tells him that what she does is make him a pretty darn happy man and asks if he gots anything to say about that.

And Nervous guys lips get a bit thinner and he starts to fidget, blabber, oh she really is a beauty, he says, he’s sure she makes him happy, he says, but if … Gerry ever thought she could maybe be… possibly… if he ever felt faint in her presence, if…. You- you know what? F- forget it.

And he turns to leave. Throws one gaze over his shoulder though and says, quietly, like he is taking all of his nerve to say it to him that… he just hopes… hopes that Gerry would be safe in the future.

And then he trucks back up to the roof again, says that Flower shmoe is probably waiting on him.

It takes seeing her blueprint to fully believe him and Gerry’s first instinct is to disregard it. Nah. Nahhhh. Why? Who would do that? Who would build such a beautiful dame only make her do something like THIS? What kinda fool of a man would make the most gorgeous machine in the world and design her to puff poison into peoples faces? And draw smiley faces on her blueprints?! Like this was fun?! Like someone was having a big guffaw at making her do such a thing.

He is being played.

His head snaps around looking all over the place. Okay who did this? Who thought they could pull his girls name through the mud like that??

There’s nobody else on his floor when he finds it, which doesn’t help him figure out who the culprit is. His first instinct is the janitor. Then he decides the poor shmuck would not be brave enough to leave anything in front of his door in the morning. Guy never leaves his walls as is…

Goateyes from the roof seems like an obvious second suspect. He hasn’t gots the guts to say things in person, but the story of how he had quit his job had spread round the Habitat like a wildfire… just as him being a giant chicken about stairs. Deadly afraids of em. Only reasons he’s up on the roof is because the elevator stops up there.

… so would that nervous Nelly really have the gall to come up here and show him?

… There is a third option.

That florist.

That florist has been running all round the place a bajigagillion times, doing the weirdest stuff, running errands, kissin folks, waterin plants… for no discernible reason at all, except to make folks… happy.

But why would they?! They helped him out of a pickle before! Got him a gift to give to her! What was this about?? Why fake something like that? What was this blud even PLANNING?!

He makes his way down to her, fuming, blueprints still in hand, as he gets back to work again. Gotta make doubloons somehow, gotta give his lady the live she deserves, a new coat, maybe some new screws, hell, maybe he could even replace that rusty part on her side.

The day keeps going as always, hot, dusty, no customers to speak off even though he almost sells the lawyers watch to himself… but he keeps looking back at her.

… what was Martha made for?

If the blueprints are to be trusted, those big pipes could connect to… something… could be anything really! Water, fire… gas.

He shakes the thought from his head, trying not to dwell on it.

…. The big event… just what was that?

The doc has not been giving anyone much info about it, has been very hushhush in fact. Doesn’t seem to really want anyone to smile, doesn’t really want anyone to skedaddle either. Which is WEIRD. Wants em all here… in one place…. Don’t want anyones to leave.

… The prints mention something like “Nay-trous-ox-aid” if that’s what it’s pronounced like. What was that? What was that? He heard it before… something toxic? Something chemical? His brother has always been better at this stuff… says it smells sweet and irony…

Sometimes his head spins when he’s near her.

Not like he did when he was near Agnes. Different. It’s oughta be love… it’s oughta be real good love that makes you outta breath… till you have to huff to get some oxygen back. Kinda love that gives you headaches….

His hands shake a little as he tries to put something together.

He doesn’t think about it, he doesn’t dwell on it, he doesn’t care… he doesn’t stay in the courtyard as long as he usually does.

And he absolutely does NOT lie in his bed that night, mulling over the evidence, holding tears back. And if a tear did manage to escape his peepers it was a very MANLY and TOUGH tear, the type of tears well dressed men in suits wore in movies before they said something cool like “My life ain’t something for the likes of yours Charlene, the rainy dark cesspools of this city are where I belong.” Before they turned away with a dramatic spin of their coat.

He does not want it to be real. She couldn’t be like that.

The next day the tall lady has started to pack her bags and photos and the funky artist on her floor has already called a cab for the next day.

The place feels so empty.

He makes his way to her one last time, can’t just leave her like this, has to let her know.

Puts his hand on her side. Martha lets out a huffing noise and she feels warm. So warm, so pretty…his Martha.

Stays with her for the entire day like that, leaned against her, watching the sky, listening to her metallic groans and the huffing of her pipes. Inhales the sweet, irony scent… what a horrible scent, makes his head hurt… what a lovely scent, very earthy, very Martha.

He doesn’t look back after that. Just shoulders his Rucksack and walks out into the evening sun. Maybe he would come back someday. Maybe there would be a day where he could return to her, settle down here with her, when he was a truly successful businessman and she would no longer be forced to do such horrible things, but for now, he walks away, off to new, uncertain ventures.

[gold-glowing-gummies]

Help for insomniacs

Content: Habismal, Habismollar family mentioned, Kamal has issues sleeping, fluff, Boris shadow form has weird hypnosis like powers he uses on a willing Kamal

Kamal couldn’t sleep again.

He had that issue sometimes, waves of insomnia, not always brought on by worries about the future but often enough to be annoying.

He had them since high school, nothing new to him, nothing to worry about. If anything it was a good time to get some reading done or to do some cleaning.

At least that used to be the case until he started rooming with his ex boss.

Boris face is unimpressed as he stands in the doorway of their kitchen, illuminated by the light of the small lamp hanging over the table where Kamal was doing some studying , arms crossed, a frown on his face and Kamal hasn’t felt like he got caught with his hands in the cookie jar for ages, but Habits scowl could keep up with the most sternest of mothers.

“… Heeey buddy.”

“Kamal…. It’s free am.”

“Hey….hey now I was not pulling an all nighter again.”

Boris brows furrow further.

“No! No, swear! Not this time!”

Kamal holds his hands up in defense, hoping to convey to his friend that he is indeed telling the truth, even if his track record did not do him any favors in this regard. He was a night owl at heart, much to his early birds displeasure.

“I just couldn’t… just couldn’t sleep is all.”

Boris expression softens a little, even though he still doesn’t seem quite convinced.

“Couldn’t sleehp?”

Kamal sighs, lifting his cup to get another sip of tea, only to realize in disappointment that it has already gotten cold.

“Yeah. Must be a full moon or whatever people say these days.”

He pulls away from the table, trying to scooch his chair as little as possible to not wake up Putunia, before he heads to the counter.

“… want some tea too boss?”

Boris thinks for a second and nods, sitting down at the table as Kamal pulls the mug Putunia made for his last birthday from the shelf. The rose she’d drawn on it looked more like a red cabbage, but it was still Boris favorite mug.

“I’ve been trying to get some shut eye since midnight, but nothings working. Trust me, if I could have I would have.”

Boris voice is mildly concerned as he asks

“… Did yuo… habe a bad dream?”

Kamal takes a second to register both the tone and assumption of the question and he does his best to dispel any worry as he shoots Boris a tired smile.

“Hm? Uh. Nah. Nah that’s usually not an issue at all. Worst I get are the dreams where I flunk sixth grade PE class…”

His joke makes Boris snort a little and he visibly relaxes.

“S just a thing that happens to me sometimes. I… I don’t know… WHY it happens, but it ain’t that bad… two sugar?”

“Du we have hunny?”

“Yeah. Want that?”

“Yes pls.”

They share their tea in comfortable silence, Kamals feet on the pleasantly cool tiled kitchen floor as he absentmindedly rubs his thumb over the warm porcelain of the mug and Boris blearily drinking his chamomile tea, clearly still tired and getting ready to go back to bed.

The clock ticks on

Half an hour passes before Boris shifts, yawning as he does.

“Heading back?”

“Hmm-hmm… I em not cut out for this.”

Boris gets up, setting his mug quietly next to the sink.

He turns back to Kamal and stops in his tracks for a second, like his mind just realized something.

“If… you’d come beck to bed we could… do something?”

“… do something? At this time?”

“Sumfing to help you sleeps I mean.”

“I mean… sure? I’m not gonna count sheep though.”

Boris rolls his eyes.

“Ibm not gonna make you count sheep.”

“Aight… worth a try I guess.”

The sheets are still as crumpled a the way he left them when he went to the kitchen and Boris, the sweetheart he is, insists of fluffing up his pillows for him before Kamal lays down again.

The blankets are refreshingly cool as Kamal gets tucked in and he has to admit, it was nice being cared for like this, even if he wasn’t sure he would fall asleep anytime sooner just because Boris insisted on doing so.

Speak of the devil, the sheets next to him shift as Boris kneels down on his side of the bed and looks down at him with a calm smile.

“Compfy?”

“Extremely.” Kamal admits.

It feels a bit funny to be tucked in from all sides like he is expected to pupate overnight, but he cannot deny it’s relaxing.

Boris nods in approval, before his expression turns a little bit more bashful and he tucks a curl behind his ear.

“Sooo… I’ve been thenking of somefing that may help but it maye be a bit… spooky.”

Kamal wiggles in what could be considered mild alarm.

“Spooky… uhhhhh… spooky how exactly?”

“Not bahd!” Boris assures him quickly.

“But I… would have to.. yuo knoe…”

… Ahhhhh. That thing he does.

Truly, it was something that Kamal still considered a bit unsettling and indeed “spooky”, but it was not something that actually concerned or scared him anymore.

He had known about Boris second form for a while now, seen it, lived with it, and apart from the occasional jumpscare when he went down to get a glass of water… it had rapidly stopped creeping him out the more time went on.

Truthfully, he had started to grow fond of it in a way. Vaguely remembering something pulling a blanket over him while he was half asleep, or seeing something scoop under Putunias doorway, just to make sure she was asleep and well in her room, it was less like being haunted by a ghost and more like being protected by a shadow.

“Oh! Oh that’s fine. Knock yourself out big guy.”

He gets a happy, gap toothed smile in response, as Boris settles next to him.

“Obkay! Just… try to keep an opin mind…”

He changes between blinks.

The shadowy figure smiles down on Kamal and the dental assistant gives his best to give him a reassuring smile.

“… Hey there.”

The shadow does not answer in response but Kamal thinks he sees the glow of his smile grow just a tiny bit brighter.

Boris hand reaches out towards him.

The sensation of his touch feels a bit like the static on a tv screen Kamal thinks, as his long fingers gently tuck a strand of loose hair out of Kamals face.

He starts slowly, gliding his thumb over Kamals brows and the bridge of his nose, gently caressing the sides of his face, before his fingers gently tangle into the his hair and scratch over Kamals scalp, the tingling sensation sending a pleasant buzz trough his brain.

He is not quite sure a head massage is going to help him sleep, but it sure isn’t something he is going to turn down and he has to admit, his eyelids do grow heavier by the second.

Boris puts his palm on his forehead and stops, causing Kamal to open his eyes again just so and as he meets his friends eyes he realizes that Boris is looking at him with a sort of inquiring look.

His palm slides down his forehead and over his eyebrows slightly and Kamal just gives him a gentle nod, before Boris eyes completely cover his eyelids.

Everything around him becomes completely covered in black.

Not even the sort of darkness that exists in a room that has been completely shielded from all sunlight, this feels different somehow, there is no light at all anymore, just black. Not just darkness but just… dark.

The humm in his brain increases.

Have his arms felt that heavy before?

He can actively feel himself fall asleep and part of Kamal thinks that he SHOULD be worried about witnessing it so clearly, but the only thing he is left with is complete trust in Boris and the pleasant buzz in his mind… One… two….

He doesn’t even make it to three.

It’s 10 am when he finally wakes up again, disoriented, confused even and he takes a good minute to pierce together who he even is and what happend the night before.

Ah…. yeah that did help a lot actually.

Boris is already up, because of course he is, and Kamal can make out the Saturday morning tv already playing in the living room.

He makes his way downstairs still in his pajamas and is greeted to Boris mulling over a puzzle next to Putunia, who is transfixed on the tv and not even noticing the crumbs of cereal spread across her face.

“Oh! Good murnin …Iye already had breakfass, but if yuo want some coffee deres still sum in the kitchen.”

Kamal makes his way over, still groggy, but feeling… oddly refreshed… glowing. His eyes fall onto Boris mug from yesterday and after rinsing it out he pours a bit of coffee for him as well, before adding enough milk to make it more of a milkshake than anything else, just how he knows Boris likes it.

When he comes back Putunia has switched her attention over to the Puzzle and now both her and Boris are kneeling next to the coffee table, mulling over the pieces together.

Kamal sets both of their cups down next to the side table before leaning over to press a Kiss on Boris temple.

“Mornin…”

Boris smiles before turning his head so he can return the kiss proper, not being bothered by Kamals morning breath and his expression turns into one of knowing.

“Moooornin~… did you have a good sleeps? :- )”

And Kamal snorts a little and rolls his eyes, before he joins them both at the table.

[gold-glowing-gummies]

Games

A new challenger approaches the Whack-a-molar

Warnings: Smoking mentioned, Parsley almost swallows a cigarette

Content: silly kids playing silly games for silly prices, Ronbo and Parsley smoking buddies, Tim Tam is a menace

Carnival games are always at least a little bit rigged and Ronbo knows that full and well.

Most of the time it doesn’t even take any rigging, just offer someone a price and a game that SEEMS easily winnable, assure them that the first shots free, and then watch as they desperately try to figure out a game that they have deemed “too easy” before.

It’s all in good fun on a good carnival in his opinion. People KNOW about the games, people KNOW about how hard they are by design, but thats the point of it.

Everyone dreams of being the person who gets it right. Everyone likes to think of themself as the one exception to the rule, the one person who would be skilled enough to claim the fabled big plush rabbit or the tea set for themself. It’s about the willingness to believe that lady luck would be on your side.

That being said, the games at this so called carnival? Pretty damn rigged.

He blows out some smoke as he watches the pipsqueaks gather around the whack-a-molar, the flimsy paper doll behind the counter constantly encouraging them to keep going, even if it was clear that none of them would win. Well, some things would have to be learned the hard way he presumed.

The gravel besides him shifts and in the corner of his eyes, he sees that frazzled looking, well dressed man approach. Parsley? Yes, Parsley, Parsley Botch.

“Anything new Rambo- Eh, Ronbo?”

The clown just shrugs as he inhales on his cigar once more, closing his eyes as he exhales.

“Same old, same old I’m afraid my good pal.”

He offers his lighter without looking, lighting Botch’s Malboro lights before clicking it shut and putting it back into his bag.

It had become sort of routine at this point, smoking together halfway between an awkward and a companionable silence.

He had yet to find out if Botch was just not that talkative or extremely awkward. Either way he was starting to like the lawyer regardless.

“… They are not gonna win anything huh?”

“… no.”

“Do you think they will stop?”

“… no.”

“Huh.”

The pale little girl had gotten the farthest up till now, slamming the hammer on the mollars as fast as possible under the encouragements and shouts from her cheers, but even her skill fell short.

“So sorry-“

the two dimensional stall keeper says, their grin never disappearing from their face.

“But youuu sadly hav not beat-n the highest scorr. Come back if you w@nt to try again!”

A collective groan goes through the row of kids before the smallest girl in the group tries again, bouncing up and down energetically before taking the hammer.

Parsley and Ronbo watch on a little bit longer, observing the skills ,or lack there off, of the kids, while their choices of smokes continue to fizzle down between their fingers.

“… Game?”

The appearance of … THAT child startles them both.

Ronbo almost chokes on the smoke, while Parsley just gulps his cigarette down in some bizarre form of reflexive impulse, leading him to bend over and hack and cough while Ronbo slaps him on the back to relocate the dogend from his lungs to the floor.

The clown turns back to meet eyes with the resident menace and one of the banes of his existence in this place.

There were kids who were though crowds, there would always be children who he could not make laugh, but trying to perform or even talk to this specific child felt like capering in front of only mildly interested and hungry lions.

Something about the eyes. Something about the monotone voice… something about how they seemed to revel in chaos.

The small, purple skinned child blinks once, before pointing back towards the stall, where broccoli kid is once again trying to haggle for the grand price with a half eaten shoe sole.

“… Game?”

“Uh… yeah. Sprou- Sprout. Theres some sort of uh… some sort of price i think?”

Their head cocks to the side slowly, like they are mulling that piece of information over in every possible way inside their head.

“I want that.”

Ronbo flicks his lighter on once again, offering it to his companion who gladly uses it to light himself another cigarette.

“Knock yourself out kiddo. Honk.” He says, watching as the scraggly young boy struggles to even hit a single rotten tooth.

“They’ves been at it for a while now, but it’s a nice way ta kill some time round here-“

He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before the kid has already made its way over to the stall, pushing past the dissapointed teenage boy who has now taken to rolling on the floor dramatically and howling at the air.

It takes a second for the attendant to notice them.

“OH!” They gasp, voice loud and exited. “Anothrr contestand ? You look liuke you know how to PANCH some sense into folks! WoulP you like to trys your luck?”

They nod, before taking the Hammer out of the boys hand, who had recently been dragged to his feet by that… horrid little girl with the bat and is now pouting and grumbling into his own scarf.

“It’s eazy-pee-zy! Just make sure to hit as many of these rottn little gueyz as possible! But don’t hit the purly whites! Do you want me to explane again?”

The child just stares on in silence, feeling the weight of the hammer in their hands cautiously.

“Wellllll then! On your margs! Ready…. Set…. GO!”

The next thing that happend was something Ronbo would struggle to describe for the rest of his life. It was one thing to say that the child wacked every molar, with frightening strength and accuracy, it would be one thing to describe just how violently they hammered onto the wooden stand till it cracked, but the experience itself?

“Like watching someone’s use a jackhammer to pop bubbles.” Would have to be enough for anyone curious enough to ask in the future.

The silence in the courtyard is big enough to make a pin drop sound an explosion.

Ronbos mouth hangs slightly open, the ash from his cigar nearly reaching his gloves by the end.

He slowly turns his head over to Botch, who returns his look with gritted teeth and a thousand yard stare.

This… this was not what they expected to happen.

The paper doll throws its arms up in jubilation, seemingly not noticing or caring about the wrecked stand or the horrified look on the other children’s faces as they speak to the small child again.

“Conga-rat-ulations! You are our secun big winner! I knew you could do-“

“Price.”

The child extends their arm towards the doll, unblinking, uninterested in being praised for their skill, only interested in acquiring the spoils of their victory.

They still haven’t put the hammer down.

“Wh-Why yeas of COURSE little hooman .”

The doll stutters, faltering just a little bit as it scrambles below what’s left of their stand.

“I am GLAD to giv you this one of a kimd price! Don’t use it too much though.”

Parsley notices before he does.

“… Oh cob no.”

And Ronbo has to agree as the child stares both of them down, with eyes that could make Medusa turn to stone and crumble, as they lift up their price with one hand triumphantly, ready to use it for the first of many, many, many, MANY times to come.

Up in his office, a dentist is violently ripped from his thoughts as the blaring of an airhorn startles him and makes him jump in his seat.

[gold-glowing-gummies]

Gift

In which something catches Kamals eye at the thrift store.

No warnings, fluff, Habismal friendship / early crushing, Kamal Boras typical overthinking

Kamal prides himself on not being an impulse buyer.

Hard to be when you mull every little thing over all the time. Hard to be when you do not really have money to spend and even harder to be when you have not much you’d want to spend it on.

He’s a simple guy, as much as he bemoans that fact sometimes.

As much as he sometimes wishes he could pull of a more flamboyant outfit and as much as he wishes that he would not feel like dying whenever he decides to set foot outside even in just a jacket that’s a bit brighter than he usually wears.

He has gotten better at that to be fair to himself, but who could honestly imagine a guy like him in a leather jacket for instance?

But he is not an impulse buyer at least. He thinks and overthinks about his purchases and is patient enough to wait things out. He is not a frivolous spender.

Which is why he feels like he is just a bit in a pickle as of now.

The coat displayed in the thrift stores window is nothing short of wildly, theatrically, unmistakably gorgeous.

It sticks out amongst the two coats surrounding it, drab brown and heavy, with a deep blue collar and a pink faux fur coat, mix between a dandy and an elderly eccentric aunt.

Loud, chaotic, weird and fun.

… His mind wanders to other things that fit that description.

Habit would love this.

He shakes his head and pulls his gaze away from the garment, pretending to be more interested in the button ups with a garish brown parsley print.

That would be a WEIRD thing to do.

You don’t gift these kind of things to your boss.

Well, Boris is not only his boss… at least he likes to think so.

How often can you go get coffee with your boss before it gets weird? How often do you confide in your boss about your weird anxieties and how often does your boss smile at you like… “that”… and say that you’re a wonderful person

So it’s safe to say that they are friends now.

But also coworkers, colleagues, “contractually obligated to question every little bit of feelings that may have started to swell up inside Kamal even before all of that”-friends, which is why a gift like this would just be overblown.

Not like the big guy could not buy it himself too.

Sure, Boris pays him double the amount of what an assistant usually makes in this profession...

Habit has more money then sense honestly, the kind of person who really doesn't want a lot or puts much stock into expensive stuff. He’s much more interested in weird little knickknacks, with an occasional outlier of a bonkers big purchase but Boris isn't really... materialistic....

Boris likes giving gifts more than anything else.

He has come into the office with something for Kamal more than he can count.

Baked goods, little keychains, pillows (because there was a two for one deal and he just couldn’t leave Kamal without one), weird homemade art polluted by gallons of glitter and, on one occasion, a handmade,red wool hat that made Kamal look a little bit like a lighthouse from further away, but kept him warmer than any other winter hats he ever owned.

Boris rarely ever seemed to wonder wether or not it would be appropriate to give Kamal a gift or not, wether or not anyone looking on would deem it weird or wether or not Kamal was the type of person you’d think of getting a gift like that.

He could easily imagine Boris buying that leather jacket that Kamal saw when he came in, just because Boris’s mind would never even think of how out of place a geek like Kamal would look in it.

Hell, Boris probably sincerely thought Kamal was be cool enough to pull it off, just because that kind of enthusiastic, crazy person was just the type of person Boris was….

The button ups do not provide the distraction he wanted.

He crosses the few steps through the floor to the window, just to look a bit more, really.

Damn thing looks even fluffier up close.

Kamal reaches out towards the little bit of paper hanging from the coats side and flips the tag over in his hand. It’s expensive… but less expensive than he hoped for.

Part of Kamal expected to be hit with a price in the four digits that he would not be able to afford, but, dare he say it, for such good quality the price is… not only reasonable… it’s dirt cheap.

No. NO. It would still be... You do not buy a fancy coat for your BOSS. Socks and ties? Maybe, but a full on coat?

His thumb glides over the smooth fabric as his mind races.

Genuinely, how would he even make this NOT weird?

“Hey doc, I saw this in a window and thought of you. Thought it would fit you. Imagined you in it actually. Like a creep. A creepy creep.”

No, he was going to leave this place right now and not look back.

Kamal slams his car door shut with just a bit more force than needed and sighs.

He drags a hand over his face before gazing at the paper bag next to him with an accusatory look in his eyes.

Damn it.

He couldn’t resist.

Well, then again… he still had the receipt.

And thus he drives off, with an absolutely ridiculous impulse buy for his friend… and himself. Maybe he could become a leather jacket guy after all.

[gold-glowing-gummies]

Create

Mirphy comes to a rather worrying conclusion about her art.

No warnings, pre game, Mirphy has artblock and is mildly depressed about it, dealing with sucky critics

It had taken Mirphy about a month to realize it, a month of developing film, slaving in the darkroom, cussing at the little spills of chemicals on her jeans and countless cups of coffee later.

This was boring… all of it.

Her frown deepens as she tosses a handful of images onto the table, leaning back on her sofa as she lets her head fall onto the back of the couch so she could stare at the ceiling.

When had it happend?

No, seriously? WHEN the heck did this happen?

This used to be fun. There used to be SOMETHING.

When had this started exactly?

After her third exhibition?

After the first time she had to deal with deadlines?

Or was it after her first negative review from a critic?

Amateur! Really, her visionary and artistic choices were clear as rain!! It was not “wacky” and not “incomprehensible” and maybe it was only a little bit “silly”, but it was not “a look at the simple things in the world that neither shocks or surprises us with new appreciation for the things around us” DAVE! You cretin! You absolute blubbering, buffoon!

But it had been nagging at her, not the review in particular, but the feeling of “What now?”

If her mind was a fountain there seemed to be a massive blockage in there right now, leading to just a trickle of ideas instead of the bright spectacle she was wishing for.

Even worse what came out was more of a muddy stream rather than the brilliantly blubbering spring water of her beautiful brain that usually flew so freely.

Sure there had been moments where some college student put soap in there and some of her work came out as a foamy, bubbly mess that… okay she was loosing the metaphor here a little bit, but point was she could usually even just appreciate the work that came out somewhat more wonky.

But this? This was NOTHING.

And it sure wasn’t fun.

Wasn’t photography FUN at some point?

Mirphy looks back at her coffee table and the pictures she sees almost make her want to cry and rip out her hair in frustration.

Boring. Boring, Boring, BORING!

The photos at least make a satisfying sound as she shreds them to pieces in between her hands one by one. On a better day her mind would have considered doing an action shot with confetti, but today it just feels bland.

Her hand reaches out to her cup of coffee, stupid, boring, as her gaze falls upon something.

The flyer had caught her eye just for how garishly colorful it was and what seemed like a crayon drawing of a frog or something, with red hair and a top hat.

“Drained? Stuck-in-a-rutt-like-a-buhg-in-a-rug? Visit thehabitat.com.”

As the pc powers up, Mirphy chugs the last bit of her, now cold, coffee before deciding on another cup of green tea.

She takes her time setting up the kettle and stove, knowing it wouldn’t be a while before it was ready to connect online.

As she looks out the window and into the distance an unwelcome thought starts to take root in her mind.

“What if it stays like this forever?”

She shakes her head . Not gonna entertain that baloney. It’s a creative slump, not a loss of her skill and talent, she just… needed something to get that drive back, that need to create… some inspiration!

The website is just as weird as the flyer that advertised it.

Apparently someone decided to open up a mental health resort in the middle of nowhere, free of charge, just out of the kindness of their heart.

Sketchy doesn’t even begin to cover it, but aight.

Just someone who wanted people to smile.

Just someone who wanted people to be happy.

When was the last time Mirphy actually felt happy with her work?

The whistle of the kettle rips her out of her thoughts and she groans as she gets up from her pc to take it off the stove.

Happy.

The word echoes in her skull.

What was the last picture she took that really made her happy? The one that really knocked her socks off?

She pours herself a cup slowly, careful not to spill anything on the counter, before she returns with her full cup and sits back down again.

The ordeal took long enough for her screensaver to turn on and she spends a few seconds watching the tubes stretch across her screen, before she wiggles the mouse a bit to return to the website.

She scrolls down a bit further till she reaches an email address.

Aw screw it, might as well give it a try. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

[gold-glowing-gummies]

They had that dream again….

Content: They / Them unnamed teenage Flower Kid, hurt / comfort, familial Flower Kid + Boris Habit

Warnings: Nightmares about the bad ending, dream logic, mild violence and dental horror

They had that dream again

Going up, up, up, upwards the tower till the air became thinner. How long have they been in the elevator? Why did they even get in here in the first place? They turn to Kamal to ask, but he just smiles and puts a hand on their shoulder

“He’s just a big softie.”

He states, hugging his knees to himself, as the courtyard behind him fills with gas.

“Just try not to breathe in too much.”

They turn around to see which floor they are on, eyes glazing over the posters that are plastered all over the inside of the elevator.

“To make some omelettes you need to break a few eggs, just give it a good swing and put your thumb outside your fist.”

They stumble out of the elevator in a hurry, passing the giggling Carla’s and the shadowy figure in the corner, clinging onto the flowerpot holding their own teeth.

If they did not make it in time they would not be able to put them back.

And then he stands there.

Small, frightened, crying.

The boy from the art gallery looks as pitiful as he looks terrified.

The pot drops down.

All it takes is one well aimed punch and doctor Habit tumbles backwards, over the railing.

Smiling.

“Goodbye Flower hero.”

They do not wake up with a scream or a jolt or anything of the sort. Just their eyes snapping open abruptly.

The wall they are facing does not look like their bedroom wallpaper.

It takes a few seconds to clear up the confusion, as they sit up to look around and register why Trevor is sleeping next to them in his own sleeping bag, arms splayed open and snoring and why Nat is sitting upright on the couch, arms crossed across her chest, unmoving.

Most of the time people would not realize she was half vampire, but the way she slept kind of gave it away.

They slowly get up from their own spot on the floor, careful to no step onto Putunia, as much for their own sake as for hers, her sleep punches were surprisingly hearty for a girl that small.

Everyone’s still asleep.

It had been a fun sleepover, even if Gerry was upset that Tim Tam kept stealing the Monopoly money and Millie almost broke one of the greenhouse windows, it was nice to see all of their friends again before summer vacation started.

Habits place was big enough to accompany an entire gaggle of people, he was filthy rich after all.

Habit…

They tiptoe through their array of sleeping friends towards the door, making sure not to wake anyone up, knowing it would be impossible to get anyone back to sleep.

The thought in their head keeps nagging at them even though they know it’s not warranted.

It was just a nightmare.

They would go through the kitchen door into the back garden and see Habit trimming the hedges, having been awake for hours, because he was a morning person and got up around six on most days.

He was alive and well and it would be fine.

It was just a dream it would be fine.

The air outside is still a bit humid from the rain that fell the night before. It had started to really bucket down around midnight, just when they started to watch back to the future and it did not let up for an hour, but the sun was already coming through again today. It was gonna be a lovely day.

They halt in the doorstep as they see Habit. Humming to himself, trimming the hedges, having already been awake for hours because he was a morning person and got up around six on most days.

Alive and well.

He looks up at the sound of the door opening and smiles brightly at his guest.

“Ohh! Gud morning Flower child yuo little sleepy head! Are your litl-e friends awaike as well or- Ah! Oh…”

He puts his arms around them awkwardly, being careful not to accidentally stab them with his scissors, and the confusion in his voice is evident.

“Oh!! Yue shuld really wear slippers befo-re you come out, the groun is still wet from- … oh.”

Realization dawns on him.

“… You had that dream again.”

He says, quietly, softly, before he loosens his hug to put the scissors down slowly just so he can kneel down and return the embrace fully.

It’s nice that he gets it.

A lot of things happened and they’ve talked about them at length, glad to have gotten to this point, becoming part of each others lives and their weird little family, but sometimes it was nice to not say anything and just knew the other understood.

After a final squeeze they let go, wiping away the tears on Kamals “borrowed” shirt (he had jokingly asked if he was ever gonna get it back, but they both already knew the answer and neither of them seemed to mind) before they look up at Boris, managing just a tiny smile.

“… You said something about breakfast?”

The chuckle that escapes him rocks trough their whole body and makes them smile even wider and as he gets up from his knees and ruffles their hair it has broken into a full on grin.

“ I’ll maike panne-cakes.” He says, before making his way to the house.

“Wuld you please set the taible?”

Putunia would wake up first in a few minutes, woken up by the sound of conversation in the kitchen, waddling into the room with her eyes still full of sleep.

This would set off a chain reaction of the entire house stirring to live, everyone rushing in to get the best piece first, trying to help set the table or just try and steal spoons full of batter.

The pancakes would be delicious and Habit would have his hands full of trying to make as many as possible, clearly being overwhelmed by the demand of a gaggle of kids asking for seconds and thirds.

They would both look at each other at one point and smile, just as Boris sits down with them to dig into his own serving, knowing, understanding.

The night may have been rough but the day was already starting to look bright.

[smileformeweek]

Welcome to the 2026 Smile For Me Week!

[Image Description: A red and blue striped banner with an image of Tiff Webber standing leaning forward and smiling at the viewer. Next to her is text reading, “Smile For Me Week 2026; June 7 - June 13". End ID.]

This is a week dedicated to making fan content of all kinds for the game Smile For Me by LimboLane Games.

Prompt List:

6/7 (Day 1) - Dream

6/8 (Day 2) - Create

6/9 (Day 3) - Gift

6/10 (Day 4) - Game

6/11 (Day 5) - Help

6/12 (Day 6) - Goodbye

6/13 (Day 7) - Free Day

Make sure to read the rules for the event, and feel free to share any fan content you make with the tag #sfmweek2026, or by tagging this blog (or sending a message if you’re afraid your content hasn’t been seen) for it to be reblogged here.

[gold-glowing-gummies]

Random little Trencil and Nat ficlet

No warnings, one mention of blood bags for vampire reasons at the end, spooky scary skeleton haunted mansion vibes

It’s almost a weekly occurrence that some poor sod from out of town gets stuck during a bad storm and has to knock on the big, heavy wooden doors of the gloomy old manor to seek shelter for the night.

The shivering stranger will be greeted by a dusty, empty foyer, cobwebs everywhere, the candles of the chandelier just slightly illuminating the hallways.

And they will always be greeted by a beautiful man wearing a cape and carrying a chandelier who will introduce himself as “Sir Trencil Varnnia” and welcome them to his “humble abode” before cryptically mentioning that he and his daughter already ate, but the guest room is all set and he will bring up some food for their guest, because, after all… would be awful if they would feel… drained… from such an unfortunate night yes?

The entire place is just a bad omen, there is hardly any electricity anywhere, the curtains are drawn, the room is far to decadent for a simple stranger to visit and all in all, most people who stay in the Vancey / Varnnia household fear for their life during their first stay.

… that is until they awaken the next morning, neck unbitten and blood unsucked, to a teenage girl knocking at their door, annoyed and apathetic as teens are, and invites them down to the kitchen because

“Dad made breakfast.”

It is then , in the just slightly more lit light of the sun falling trough the crack of the curtains, that guests will notice the place is actually entirely made up out of pastel colored and frankly gaudy furniture and architecture.

It’s still a bit gloomy, mostly because the curtains are still partly closed, but thats undercut by the framed paintings of cats on the wall and the crossstitches of bats and the pictures of a rather chunky looking baby with just slightly pointy teeth in various (slightly embarrassing) baby situations.

The teenage girl leads them trough a corridor with no windows, reacting a little confused and annoyed when they fail to follow right away, before her eyes widen and she goes “Crap! You aren’t scotopic.” And claps her hands, making the overhead lamp (Tiffany style) spring to life with a hum.

“We are still getting the electricity set up.”

She states, as she continues to lead the confused visitor towards the kitchen.

“This place is old as mothballs, so dad’s been having issues with the lightning… could just hire an electrician but he just gooootta do it himself...”

They finally arrive in the more brightly lit kitchen to see the same man as the night before, now wearing a full coverup dress, a wide brimmed sunhat with a veil, together with a face mask and sunglasses.

“Good morning.”

He states, muffled, while flipping a pancake with the ease of someone who has been doing this for a hundred of years.

“I apologize for my… getup, but you see, the sun does not agree with me as it does with my daughter.”

He pulls the veil aside to lean over to her and kiss her temple through the mask and she fails to hide the smile as she rolls her eyes.

He motions a (gloved) hand to indicate that their visitor sit at the table and as they do, confused but relieved, the only thing that just slightly alarms them are the red bags they just catch a glimpse of as the girl opens the door to the fridge. Guess they’ll just gotta stick to coffee this morning.

[ennaku-sirri-da]

I STAYED UP ALL NIGHT TO DRAW THIS

MINORS DNI PLEASE

It's not explicit but there's semi nudity so I'm not comfortable with minors interacting !

yes habits ass IS flat

They're somewhere in their 20s I guess?

some changes in the AU everyone

Anyway

Kamal getting to "Take care ( broadly like I mean the pose) of someone and not in a "well you're the eldest daughter( yup he's the eldest sibling now ) so you have to be a good role model" way

But in a way where he ( he's trans ) feels affirmed that he isnt totally messing evrything up and actually feeling warm n secure bc this is like a deep thing to share with someone( coming out ) and not have them abandon you

Habit 🤔 Not having to be the perfect son for his family whose always doing shit for them n everyone and all that toxic masculinity shit he can jst relax in a guys arms ❤️

I wrote all this at like 4 AM so sorry for the clumsy and undetailed wording but hopefully it conveys the message I meant.

base by @albanenechi

[jathis]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/82995336

Title: Godly Disappointments

Summary: Thespius receives a visitor

For @gold-glowing-gummies

[gold-glowing-gummies]

Ehehehehehehh I did an inspire :3

[gold-glowing-gummies]

You’re probably gonna delete about half of those…

Guzma x Gender neutral Reader

PPPOOOOOOOOOORN!!!

Nothing much more to say, this is over two years old and I am currently not in my Pokemon phase but have a Guzma cockwarming fic anyways.

18+, Minors dni, Cockwarming, slight dom / sub dynamics (Guzma Dom, Reader Sub), accidental chocking, checking in on sub, taking pictures, Cumming on face

Breathing in....breathing out...Calm. You take another breath trough your nose, keeping your troath relaxed and your head tilted back as you kneel in front of him, a pillow under your knees and your arms around his waist, your head is in his lap as he's idly petting your hair. The scene could almost look wholsome to someone not paying attention...

If not for the the massive dick Guzma has shoved down your troath.

You don't remember how your session started today, kneeling in front of his “throne” while he's idly scrolling away on his phone, not even paying that much attention to you anymore. Sometimes when he would find something interesting he would turn his phone around and show it to you, maybe ask you a question you could either answer with an affirmative or denying grunt around his cock, but he never pulled out to give you the chance to speak up. Currently your mouth was just a soft little hole that kept his dick warm and wet.

You shift slightly, one of your legs is falling asleep, and as you pull back a little your troath decides to act up for a second. You pull yourself of your boyfriends dick as fast as you can before the coughing fit wrecks your entire body.

You feel a hand on your cheek tilting you up slightly.

"Ya good?"

A few more weak coughs leave your body before you are ready to speak again.

“Ye-yeah. Just... One second."

Guzma cocks an eyebrow at you but makes no further moves to dissuade or persuade you from getting his dick back in your mouth and after a few deep breaths you feel clearheaded again.

You wipe some spit from your chin

"I'm good...Slowly tough."

You get a nod in return

“Aight. Then get back to it."

Guzma readjusts himself before one hand grabs his cock by the base again.

A sadistic little giggle escapes him as he guides the tip to your lips.

“Say Aaaaaa~"

You relax yourself once again and open wide, slowly letting him push you down onto his dick till your nose bumps against his pelvis. "Thhheeere ya go. Right back where ya belong."

You make a little noise of agreement that makes him shiver for a split second before he gets back to his phone.

Breathing in, breathing out, breathing in... Breathing out.... Calm....

At least till you hear the noise of a camera clicking above you. You open your eyes and look up. Guzma has his phone angled towards you, his head leaning against his other hand and his expression unbelievably smug.

"Wha? Surprised?"

Not much, no.

"Just felt like... Capturing the moment..." Another snap and you can feel your face heat up.

“Wanna show you how cute you look with a fat dick in your mouth."

His tone is equally as appreciative as it is condescending. Guzma LOVES when he gets to tease you till you can't take it anymore.

You close your eyes again, it makes it just a little bit easier to not immediately turn into a sputtering mess, but it seems like a spark of inspiration has hit Guzma now.

"... Pull off for a bit will you?"

You do as he says, curious to see where this is going. He shifts in his seat and fumbles with his phone, grabbing his dick and prodding your lips again.

“Go on, give it a kiss"

You press a little kiss to the head of his dick as you hear another snap. Then another. You know your boyfriend has... Not really a talent for taking good pictures so it's good that he tries to get various angles you think to yourself before peppering more kisses to the underside of his cock.

“Yeah, yeah keep going."

It seems like your cockwarming session has been cancelled in favor of an impromptu photo shooting, not that you mind terribly.

“Fuuuuck yeah."

Apperantly satisfied with the shots he's gotten Guzma shifts again.

“Now get back to suckin it all sweet like..."

You give his head one quick kiss again before opening your lips, taking him as deeply as you can once more while setting a slow, lazy rythmn.

Guzmas breath hitches for a second before he takes another pic.

“Fuuuuhuck me babe... Dang you should see yourself right now. Nice n sloppy just how ya boy likes it..."

You catch his eyes for a second and you can see he is already loosing his cool. Guzma loves to make you wait for it, loves to have you be good and obedient sitting on your knees with his dick in your mouth for a while only to make you beg for it later, but he is not a man of high self restraint and today it seems like he's loosing the battle.

You push yourself as far as you can once more, till your nose is flush against his groin. Guzma almost drops his phone and makes a choked up noise of pleasure above you, that soon gives way to a full out groan when you push yourself even further and let your tongue snake out for a second give a quick lick to his balls, just before you pull yourself off again for a quick gulp of air, only for his other hand to grab the back of your head and gently guide you back to his dick again.

It doesn't take long before his breathing starts to turn shallow and he guides you to go faster, your attempts at swirling your tongue around his dick rapidly declining as you instead focus on keeping your mouth open and relaxed so he can fuck your face better. Most of your sessions end like this, him becoming more and more desperate and almost humping your face as he chases his high. You brace yourself when his trusts turn slower and more powerful, waiting for him to shove himself as deep as he can before he cums inside of you, which is why it surprises you when you feel his cock slip out of your mouth and he is tilting your head back so he can look you in the eyes

"Can-Can I?"

You don't even bother to answer him properly, instead just opening your mouth for him and closing your eyes, awaiting what you know is coming. Your boyfriend let's out an utterly pathetic and strangled

“Fuuuuuuhuuuck" before you feel the warm strings of cum coating your face, followed by several rapid fire sounds of the phone's camera going off.

You keep your eyes closed as he roughly grabs your face, tilting it from side to side and taking a few more quick snaps.

".....Fuuuuck."

He concludes and you open your eyes again. Guzma is still breathing heavy, his hair is sticking to the sweat on his forehead and his eyes look glazed over. His troath sounds dry when he speaks again.

"... How are ya actually real?"

he whispers hoarsely

“How are ya actually here and not some fucking amazingass wet dream I am having? Fuuuck ..."

He lets out a breathless laugh as he helps you get up from your position on the floor. Your knees hurt and your left foot has fallen asleep, yet you feel absolutely great.

He motions you to sit down on his lap and grabs a relatively clean shirt from the floor. You wipe the cum of your face as best as you can but you know you are both gonna need a shower soon. After you're done you grab the soft drink bottle he keeps on his table at all times and down half the thing in four big swigs to soothe your poor overworked troath before handing it to Guzma, who unceremoniously downs the rest before dropping it on the floor.

He clears his troath a last time before lifting his phone.

“Wanna take a look?" You nod in affirmative and lean against him, mentally making a note to turn the tables on him next time.

[gold-glowing-gummies]

How to dispose of delicate things

Kamal gives Boris a gift before they both take a holiday from dental work. Unfortunately Boris does not care for flowers

Trigger warning: Self Harm described in detail, whump fic, references to child abuse, mayor emotional breakdown, flower mutilation, Boris has not dealt with his trauma yet

Very mild Habismal implied, not spellchecked pardon me

Word count: 1675

Logically he knows Kamal doesn’t know, Kamal saw this as a nice gesture. It would have been to anyone else.

It would have been to anyone but Boris.

But in the safety of his office, away from bashful, deep brown eyes and that almost picture perfect grin, that little gap toothed, nervous smile thats only slightly diminished by its natural discoloration, his numerous less rational thoughts rise their ugly heads like a hydra.

How dare he… how *dare* he?

Flowers.

Kamal had gotten him flowers.

How could he?

A simple bouquet, a little gift before they both enjoyed the two weeks of off-time they had and would see each other again, something sweet, something nice.

White roses.

A solid choice, slightly asinine, but not too flashy and not too romantic.

A popular flower.

A flower that stands proudly at the center of every room.

A flower that seems to say:

“Look at me! I am darling and pretty and loved and so happy! I am so happy happy habbbpy!!”

He yanks his gaze away from it.

Get it together Habit.

It’s just flowers.

Silly, ugly little flowers.

People saw them all the time and paid no mind to them.

He brings his attention back to his paperwork, flicking his tongue over his lower lip absentmindedly.

He can almost taste copper.

The day had been bad enough already, tears and screaming from people who did not appreciate him or Kamal, people who did not care what a service they provided to society.

To stare at someone else’s teeth for that long, to see how little people took care of them and to wade trough strings of phlegm and saliva just to dig into the rot, to poke at bleeding root canals and to smell the stench, that rotten egg smell of cavities and infections.

And yet the worst ones were always the ones who took care, the ones with minimal issues, the ones with the nicest teeth, like rows of pearls in an oyster, THOSE were the ones who looked at him with the most disdain, like he was lesser.

Maybe they knew?

No, no of course they did not know.

He’d done impeccable work on himself to make sure nobody ever had to see…

That….

He really cannot concentrate today.

With a groan he pushes the documents he was mulling over aside, leaning back in his chair to massage his temples, hoping it will stop the impeding migraine from forming.

Awful days.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold on like this.

He cracks an eye open.

The roses still sit there.

Roses do not have to worry about any of this.

Roses do not care about the looks, the pain, the numbness that overcomes him when he does his best to pull trough, no empathy left, no way to have any when all he hears is screaming and cussing and how much everyone is afraid of him.

Roses do not have a care in the world.

The pressure in his head seems to be increasing.

He takes a deep breath trough his teeth, hoping it helps, but all it does is fill his lungs with the scent of disinfectant.

It does not take away the burning sensation.

So innocent.

So feeble.

Did they not know how cruel the world could be?

Did they not know that there are people out there in the world who do not care for innocence?

People who delighted in breaking down weak and insignificant things?

Did they really think they could just get by like that? Did they not care for how cruel the world could be?

Would they even recognize a monster when it stood in front of them?

His patience snaps like rubber band pulled to taught.

With a snarl Boris grabs the bouquet with one hand, choking the still wet plants within his fist.

The cracking of the stems, like the breaking of vertebrae, is music to his ears.

Not so happy anymore.

A manic grin spreads on his face and widens as he slowly and deliberately glides his other hand along the mutilated stems, the jagged thorns hooking into his palms, taking skin with it, smearing a little bit of blood on those pearly white petals, as he tears their heads by their necks off one by one, stem by stem, scratch by scratch.

They tear so easily.

Disgusting little things, weak little naive pests, it barely takes any strength to hurt them like this, to pierce through their buds with his sharp nails, till the room stinks of their sap, ito tear trough the hymen like petals and to just rip, rip, rip, pinch and pierce.

Filthy. Filthy, Filthy wicked little things.

Weak little things.

Pathetic little things.

He is much bigger now, so much stronger now, no matter how much they even try to fight and scream and dig their filthy little brown barbs into him, he is stronger, he can hurt them more.

Nothing can hurt him anymore.

He comes back to himself after the final bud has fallen to the floor. After he crushed it under the heel of his boot and wiped it across the tiles for good measure.

His mouth is dry.

Had he been breathing this heavily the entire time?

He blinks away the stinging sensation in his eyes, refusing to think about the tears that came up but did not fall and where they came from.

The air feels too clammy all of a sudden.

Where before there was a rush of ecstasy running through him like boiling water, there is suddenly just the sobriety of feeling empty and numb.

The humming of the overhead lamp the only sound in the room as Boris stares at the damage he has done.

His best friend’s gift lies blood smeared and ruined on the floor.

And suddenly these feelings vanish yet again as dread begins to slowly rise from its slumber.

It takes only a few seconds to pick up the dust pan and shovel up all the evidence of his mental breakdown, before he takes it to the bathroom.

He closes the toilet lid a bit too roughly, the sound startling him as he does.

He flushes once, twice, then rapidly, with a rising sense of panicked urgency to dispose of it all, the pipes gurgling at the amount of water and evidence flushing trough it and he prays to any power that will listen to him that it doesn’t clog.

After the plumbing gargles like a dying beast one last time he finally stops, shaking, clammy hands feeling cold as he lifts the lid slowly to peak into the bowl.

Nothing.

Thank god.

His mind snaps back to the present as he notices the bloody fingerprints on the white plastic. Boris looks up, groans, and almost drags his palm over his face as he looks at the red smeared handle before catching himself. This would need to be cleaned up.

He winces as his gaze falls upon his own palm, covered in fresh blood and scraps of skin, already turning pale from being almost fully torn of his from his hand.

This would need to be as well.

Some thorns have managed to latch into him, most of them just hooked their tips into his skin, easily removable with just a little force.

A few of them have managed to dig deeper though. Managed to worm under the callus of his palm and burrow under it like stubborn little mites, barely sticking out or not resurfacing at all anymore.

It almost takes him an hour to remove them all, to get all the little pieces that managed to splinter further under this skin, a lot of pulling back calluses get a better grip, fidgeting with the pliers and trying to squeeze those little pests trough and out of his skin and even more cussing and tears before he is finally done, his hands now almost numb from the pain and the kidney dish on the table filled with bloodied tissues and little broken down splinters.

The hand disinfectant stings as it touches his freshly dug cuts, but he doesn’t want to waste other medical supplies for his wounds. The stinging is good, the stinging means he is burning it all away, even if his skin feels like it’s pulsing to the beat of his heart and his palms are swelling more by the second.

The office is closed next weeks for the holidays, which Boris is thankful for. The gauze wrapped around his hands would be awkward to work in and hard to explain to Kamal.

Oh Kamal….

He’s gonna pretend he has allergies.

He’s gonna say he didn’t want to be rude and not accept the present, but he never liked flowers anyways.

And Kamal would feel bad about it, because Kamal is wonderful and sees someone in Boris that deserves to be happy, someone who’d be glad about getting flowers.

Or Kamal would see through him, because Kamal is wicked smart.

He would look at him with his brows furrowed slightly and his lips parted, like the gears are turning in his head and he is trying try to put one and two together and is still drawing a point blank.

Maybe he would think back to how Boris looked at his gift for a split second, before he forced a smile back on his face, before he forced himself to put those dreaded weeds into a vase and not look at them for the entire workday.

But Kamal would not say anything, because Kamal did not like to push issues like that.

Yes… he’d blame it on allergies.

That’s what Boris decides on as he finally wipes the last tile clean of his blood, slowly getting up and carelessly throwing the paper in the bin.

He’d be back here in two weeks, ready to work again, ready for burrowing cavities and rotten breaths and inflamed red gums.

He hopes the lingering scent of roses would no longer be clinging to this space by that point.

[corneliaavenue-ao3]

Reblog to give prev the power to write their fanfiction

[gnar-slabdash]

Reblog to give prev the TIME to write their fanfiction

[cutebutalsostabby]

Reblog to give prev the hocus focus to write their fanfiction.

[septic-dr-schneep]

Reblog to give prev the energy to write their fanfiction

[imsopopfly]

Reblog to give prev the executive function to write their fanfiction

[gold-glowing-gummies]

Boris love for flowers extends to ALL kinds of flowers, meaning he also adores the type of flowers people tend to not be wild about.

This encompasses weeds and the like but also… poisonous flowers.

Crazy about them. Not only knows which flowers and plants are poisonous but is also able to tell you, in detail, just how much the poison is going to affect you and just how screwed you’d be if you came in contact with one.

From poison Ivy to Nightshade, he thinks they are all gorgeous and wonderful and cannot understand why people think it’s unnerving when he gushes about them.

Putunia knows everything about what plants can kill you by the time she turns eight because he keeps reading to her from books describing just how they could, like they are bedtime stories.

She thinks it’s the coolest thing ever.

Kamal is worried that her teachers are gonna suspect they let her watch crime shows, just because she will ALSO gleefully tell all of her classmates how poison hemlock killed Socrates while they have recesss.

The closest thing he and Flower Kid came to animosity again was when a goth couple came into the store and asked if they could order a bouquet that was made out of poisonous plants that was still safe enough to be used for a wedding, because Flower is ALSO a massive weirdo and both of them wanted that job so badly.

A coin flip decided in Boris favor and that was the only time they almost wondered if not pushing that man out of the window was worth it just because he was SO insufferably smug about it.

[gold-glowing-gummies]

Pokémon men trying to get you to eat more.

Headcanons for Larry, Guzma, Piers and Raihan TW: Food, mentions of eating too little

Larry: Passiv agressively takes you out to eat. Every.single.day.

It’s getting a bit ridiculous. He never lets you pay for the food either, he makes more money as a gym leader and league four trainer after all. One day you have to work on odd hours and he has league things to attend to so you soothe yourself saying that you at least have ONE day where he doesn’t have to pay for you…. And then a Squawkabilly carried food service arrives with a little note in it:

“Your regular.”

Your coworkers whisper a bit about how cold and impersonal the note is, but you can read it for what it is. The highest amount of love and care packed into a takeout box you can receive.

Guzma: Starts with just nagging you more about it, especially when food is already there and on the table. His diet is nothing particularly great, but this man is gonna try to force feed you Pizza slices when he thinks you haven’t been eating enough.

Why are there suddenly so many grunts making food? It’s a mystery (really it’s not. They are so obvious)

If that doesn’t work he will at least try to get you to snack more trough the day. Still giving you bits of his food or getting more than one portion. The sharing is especially notable because the man eats like a mudbray himself.

And you feel like one too in a way, when you both are watching Galarian tournaments and he absentmindedly just feeds you with your favorite trail mix. Don’t mention it. Even if you realize he is not even eating half of his favorite mix himself anymore.

Piers: Needs to eat more. Looks at you. Thinks you ALSO need to eat more. Talks to you about it. And then you both try to eat more… to differing results. It’s often an energy thing for him, coupled with just being to comfy to really care, but thats part of what may makes this a bit easier with him than with some other folks on this list.

No judgment at all. No expectations except getting better. Some days you both actually manage to eat something with a few proteins and some vegetables on the side… the other days you both realize the broccoli in the back of the fridge has turned a weird purple color and he sighs and just rips open a pack of Pokemon Buldak… but you found a mushroom still in semi good shape so Theres at least a bit of healthfood in there. Sometimes love and caring for each other is sharing a big pizza and looking at each other and deciding you can at least put more vegetables on it. Sometimes that way of looking out for each other is enough.

Raihan: Basically lives of premade meal plans and supplements and thus sort of GETS it… and then doesn’t.

Your boyfriend is gonna get you addicted to meal shakes. He has a knack for finding stuff you like and enjoy, he knows the best ones that are neither chalky nor rancidly sweet, he knows where to get amazing things like salted pistachio and black cookie crumble shakes that actually fill you up and have some vitamins in them.

Smoothies. So many green Smoothies. It’s about convenience for him but he wants you to have the stuff you actively enjoy. He has that on lockdown. Master of puppy eye free guilt tripping without even realizing it. He comes over to you realizing you still haven’t finished your shake and he just smiles at you with that expectant look and you just CAN’T not drink whatever he got you. And then he places another one in front of you, not even thinking about it too hard…. But he just had to get this one for you because it’s limited edition and he KNOWS you love vanilla

[gold-glowing-gummies]

Mind the gap

In which Boris asks a question about healing and self acceptance, ponders about wether or not he deserves to have peace from his past and has an art and crafts session.

Content: 2122 words, Discussion of dental work, mild allusions to childhood abuse, established background Habismal and Habismollar family dynamics

“Should I get this fixed?”

“Come again?”

“I waz wondering if… I should get something done about that.”

It’s Sunday when Boris finally springs the question on Kamal, during their morning routine, while the latter is brushing his teeth, eyes half closed and groggy from just having woken up.

Kamal is not a morning person.

Boris had found that out about him the first time he stayed over, when his ex assistant emerged from the guest room with an adorable looking bedhead and the imprints of his pillow still on his face. Maybe asking him right now was not such a wise decision…

And yes, Kamals eyes snap open before he spits out some suds and slowly lowers his brush, before turning to Boris with uncomfortable look on his face.

His eyes glance down to the toothgap Boris is pointing at, before darting up to his eyes, brows furrowed with worry.

“Did something… happen? Should I take over the- uh, the appointment for Flower Shmoe today or-“

“No. No it’s not laik… it’s not like that.”

Boris adds quickly, which doesn’t seem to convince his friend too much, so he does his best to explain.

“Ive been… thinking about it for a while now, but didn’t wanna say.”

He leans forward again to inspect himself in the mirror. Kamals uneasy gaze follows his movement.

Kamal worries too much about him. Boris would be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it.

If he said he didn’t love that Kamal cared so much.

But Kamal shouldn’t be the only one who has to help him.

They already tried that and it was bad for everyone involved.

“Ive been.. talkink to my therapist about it…”

Boris straightens himself again, before putting his hair up.

“I sometimes think… that I don’t diserve it.” He continues, as he twists his scrunchie between his fingers.

“I know thats not houw it works.” He adds, noticing Kamal frown.

“but sometimes it feels… wrong to even think about it. I hadted it for so long… and for what? I just got more sad…Shouldn’t I… try to like my sillee smile?”

He tugs at the ponytail a bit, pulling it apart so the hairtie sits closer to his head, fluffing his mane up once again for good measure.

His finger hooks over his lower lip again to pull it slightly downwards, once again giving away the gap between his teeth.

“… and then, I think that I think too much aboud it.

I look at it and I think about things,

and I think I SHOULDN’T have to think aboud all the bad things that I think aboud some-times…

and then I think is my own fault…

and then I think that I think I should stopp to… think about it.”

His shoulders sag as he gives a grim, closemouthed smile to the mirror, more annoyed at the situation than sad.

“So… I wanted to ask fur some pear-spective… what do youh think?”

Kamal looks at him for just one second longer with a worried expression, before his face starts to sport a nervous but honest smile, and he waves his hand with obviously theatric nonchalance.

“You came to the right place for this bud.-“

he points at himself with a thumbs up and a wink.

“Chronical overthinker doctor Bora here to solve aaaall your problems.”

He’s trying to take the Edge off.

He just wants to make him laugh a bit.

And he succeeds.

Boris doesn’t bother to hide the chuckle escaping him as Kamal steeples his fingers together and puts his index fingers on his lips in thought.

“You… you actually used to have an implant there yes?”

“Yes… but, you kno, after- the Habitat…“

“Yeah, no, alright I understand.” Kamal assures him quickly, not wanting to dwell on past mistakes much longer.

“How’d that feel?”

Boris puffs a cheek out a bit as he thinks.

“Is… complicaided? I felt like it was something I had to do? What a dentest should do? But I always fellt like… it wasn’t me? That make sense? And sometimes I though that… everyone could tell? Everyone knew it was… a fakesy smile.”

Kamal nods and his look turns more intense.

So concentrated…

Kamal has always been the better dental professional between them, even if he lacked Boris book smarts what with the education and doctorate and all.

Kamal actually LIKED this job, much to Boris astonishment.

“… Let’s think about the options here shall we? Obviously we could go with an implant here, but I think…”

He keeps looking intently at Boris reflection, which actually starts to make the bigger man nervous, despite knowing Kamal means well.

Kamal finally, carefully, finds a way to word the things he seems to be mulling over, voice hesistant

“Have you ever thought about something… removable?”

That is a thought that hasn’t crossed his mind actually.

“Get something to test the waters yanno?” Kamal continues.

“See if you really feel it’s… yours? And put it back in on bad days… or take it out on bad days…depends what makes you feel bad that day I mean.”

They look at each other in the mirror in silence for a second, their contemplative expressions meeting the others in the reflection. Kamal sighs, before resting his head against Boris upper arm.

“Sorry. This is a difficult question.“

“Hmmmh.” He has to agree with that.

“… thank you.”

“Not sure I’m much help Doc.”

“You are. You alweys are.”

They stay like this for a bit longer, deep in thought, before something tackles them from behind with a loud

“SNEAK ATTACK!”

and Kamal flails around for a second.

“TUNIA!”

“Oooh. Good mornink sweetee. Did you have a gud rest?”

It’s a rhetorical question. Most of the time Putunia wakes up she’s already rearing to go, their foster child really only seemed to have two settings, “awake” and “out like a light” and it was rare for either of them to see her in a more sleepy state, as adorable as the few occasions that they caught her like that were.

“YUPP!” She affirms, dragging out her little stool so she can peak over the sink and into the mirror as she goes for her own toothbrush.

“Todays imma go out and fight TimTam and Millie is coming too and-“

“Not so much.” Kamal admonishes, grabbing her strawberry toothpaste out of her hand before the leaning tower of paste collapses sideways off the bristles.

Boris watches as Kamal tries his hardest to gently tangle the knots out of her hair with his fingers before he gets to brushing, before he shoots him an apologetic look.

“I uh- yeah but I think that would be an option.”

“Wutwoubeanopshun?”

“Grown up stuff Kiddo.”

“Ptui- I’M GROWN UP!”

“You are literally seven years old-“

“Sevenanahalf!”

Kamal rolls his eyes before turning back to Boris.

“I don’t… if you want to talk to your therapist about that again that-“

“I … mey have an idea now… I’ll think about et.”

Boris kisses his friend on the cheek and tussles Putunias hair playfully, earning himself a punch of love in the ribs for that, before giving himself a last look in the mirror.

“Goutta get going. Flowers waiting.”

They had asked him for a favor regarding their teeth.

Boris would lie if he said he wouldn’t be glad to never, EVER set foot into a dental office again, but after all they’ve done for him, taking care of their smile and fixing past AND future mistakes and damages was the least he could do.

“Tell em we said hi.”

“TELLEM ABOUT THE BIG WORM I FOUND YESTERDAY!”

—

The idea took a while to set into motion, mostly because Boris was a man who insisted on perfection.

Getting the materials was relatively easy, if pricey, trying to figure out how to do it all at home without any of the equipment was a bit more tricky, but Boris felt confident in his abilities enough to attempt it anyways. He could always have gone to an actual dental technician, who had a license … they actually used to practice, but where would be the fun in that? He was sure he could come up with something.

It took a good amount of Putunias modeling clay, cement, wire-cutters, rubber bands and raisins to make his vision come true, but when he finally was done with his creation, he couldn’t help but admire his own talent. Apparently dental work came a bit easier to him when he wasn’t forced to do it full time… go figure.

A knock at his door snaps him out of his thoughts.

“MENACE! KAMAL HAS MUFFINS!”

He gets up from his desk just as he hears the sound of Putunia rushing downstairs, as well as some muffled admonishing by Kamal and he soon follows suit.

They are already setting the table when he walks through the kitchen door, Putunia always insists on helping, even though she sets up way too much cutlery for every meal or snack they have together.

She is the first one to notice Boris standing in the frame of the door, arms crossed behind his back, grinning from ear to ear, like a child that just can’t wait for their mother to notice the masterpiece they left for her on the wallpaper, and she is the first one to realize.

Her eyes turn round and wide and her mouth falls open to let out a quiet

“Whoah”

before she jumps from her chair to reach over to Kamal, who is currently busy emptying the coffee grounds from their french press, and grabs onto his sleeve to pull at the, since her arrival, often abused garment.

“KAMAL! KAMAL LOOK! LOOK!”

“Easy kid what-“

“HIS MOUTH!”

“Wha? Putunia that…Oh….Oh wow!

“PIRATE TOOTH!”

Boris grin widens at Kamals slack jawed expression.

“You- like?”

He asks, giddily.

“I think it madches my eyes.”

He leans down towards Putunia, who now has abandoned her torturing of Kamals clothes to get a closer look at his dentures.

“PIRATE TOOTH!”

She repeats, utterly elated.

With a slight chuckle Boris gingerly grabs onto the edge of the wire holding his new, golden tooth in place, before removing it entirely and showing it off to his fascinated family members more closely.

Putunia makes a sound of both interest and disgust and Kamal, ever the professional, examines the dentures with a judging look.

“Where did you get this?”

“Made it myself.”

“WHAT? BORIS DON’T YOU THINK YOU SHOULD LEAVE THAT TO A PROFESSIONAL?!”

“I am a proff-eshional.”

“DISGRACED PROFESSIONAL MAYBE BUT-… okay but why is this actually so well made?.”

He continues inspecting the home made dentures with confusion steadily rising in his eyes.

He holds the little gold piece against the light of the lamp like he is either expecting it to melt, or for his untrained eye to find something that would give away that it’s most definitely not gold or fit for a human mouth and finds no support of either idea.

“What did you use for a mold?”

“Modeling dou-“

“But how-“

“Rubba bands.”

“HUH??”

He gapes at Boris a few times like a fish out of water, opening and closing his mouth over and over before capitulating at the pure insanity that is his roommates creativity, clenching his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not even gonna question that anymore. Every time I think I’ve seen you do the wildest thing, you just keep surprising me.”

Kamal admires the gold tooth shimmering in the light, turning it this and that way before handing it back to Boris, who leans over to Putunia to finally let her have her turn to ogle his new tooth, and wash his hands.

Over the sound of the running water and Putunias continuing noises of intrigue, Kamal turns to look at him with a knowing smile that soothes away any more worries Boris may have had.

“Suits ya Bor.”

“I like to think it does. A shiney pretty toof for a DAZZELING, darling daisy like myself~”

He beams at Kamal, a wide, full grin with a gap that he doesn’t mind showing off at that moment.

“And nao Flower hero and I will match when I am donn with their teeth!”

Oops.

Kamals head turns slowly, like it’s been put on a swivel. He looks at Boris with an astonishingly calm and collected expression that makes it hard for Boris to keep eye contact, so he instead chooses to just take a completely understandable and normal interest in the woodgrain of their kitchen table.

“… Boris…”

“Yessssss?”

“Boris… PLEASE don’t say you’re helping the kid get gold tooth.”

“… obkey I won’t say thats then.”

“BORIS!”